"TO BE OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE."
Once more, guest night at the college. A good many guest nights had
passed since the first. The thoughtful and the curious no longer
came; they were not missed by Hilarie and her friends at the place
about which there had been at first so much discussion and derision.
A college which taught nothing, and was only a place of culture,
and consolation, and rest, and good breeding--a mere establishment
for reminding women perpetually of their very highest functions and
duties--was sure to excite derision. Meanwhile, it went on doing
its own work, and nobody derided any longer. This is the way of the
world, and it is like one of the three--nay, four, things which the
Proverbial philosopher found too wonderful for him--things which he
knew not. A man proposes to found, or establish, or create, something
new--something which will, perhaps, cause changes small or great in
the current order and the current talk. It is immediately fastened
upon and he is held up to derision. Nothing is so truly ridiculous as
a thing which is new; besides, it makes admirable "copy." If the man
kicks out in return, he is jumped upon again. The world is then called
upon to observe how completely the creature is squelched, how he
lies flat and lifeless on the arid sand. Presently the world observes
that the man, so far from being flat and lifeless, is going on just
as if there had been no jumping at all; he bears no apparent mark of
bruises, no bones are broken, there are no patches of diachylum on his
head; he just proceeds quietly with his plan. Then comes another but
a fainter sound of derision, because, when people do get hold of a
good thing to worry, they like to keep at it. But the dead man, twice
killed, goes on, without paying any attention. Then silence falls.
It is unwise to let the world understand that the man you have just
killed is going about alive and quite unhurt, and that the theory
you have covered with contempt is flourishing like a vigorous vine,
already bearing blossoms and rich with promise of purple clusters.
"Yes," said Hilarie, "my simple college is going on; we are quite
full. We teach nothing except the true functions of woman, and her
place in the human comedy. We admit all those who have to work. Here
they learn that work for money and a livelihood is a kind of accident
for woman. For man it is necessary; his nature makes him crave for
activity. For woman it is an accident, which belongs to our imperfect
social system. She ought not to work for pay. And in the case of many
women, perhaps most, it degrades and lowers them, because it turns
them from what should be the main object of their lives. In this place
we warn, and here we daily strive to hold before them the necessity of
keeping before themselves a standard. They must never lose sight of
the fact that woman is the priestess of civilization. We do our best
to prevent our girls from being degraded by the unhappy accident of
having to work for wages. All women's work should be work for love."
"But it is said that you pauperize them by taking them in for nothing."
Hilarie laughed. "If the gift is a gift of love, repaid by love, what
harm? But there is a rule about payment, and nobody knows except
myself who pays and who does not. They come when they like; they go
when they like. It is a college in the old sense of the word, not the
new--a place of residence."
She left her guests and spoke to Molly. "I have asked my cousin
Humphrey to come," she said. "Will you give him an answer to-night?"
"I thought I would wait to see how he would receive----"
"Yes; you told me. It is a most wonderful story, Molly. But I do not
believe that it will be allowed to go beyond those who know it at
present. I do not believe that he will ever be told this story at all.
If he were, I know very well how he would behave. There is another
reason, Molly dear; you will understand presently, when I show you a
letter. Take him into the library, when the people are going away. Do
not answer him until I come to you. I promise you, Molly, that after
I have shown you a certain paper, you will thank God that your doubts
and your temptations were all removed."
"But if he were to go through this ordeal? It is a trial that would
prove the noblest nature."
"It is. But there is another ordeal. Will you trust me?"
"Why, Hilarie! If I am to begin by distrusting you!"
Dick was present, and had brought his fiddle, on which he presently
discoursed, to the joy of everybody except his distant cousin.
Later on Molly led Humphrey to "sit out" in the library, where two or
three other couples were already occupied in the same selfish evasion
of duty.
The young man was in a most ill temper--perhaps on account of Dick's
presence---- He made no pretence at concealing this ill temper.
"I have every reason to complain," he said. "You avoid me; you will
not answer my letters."
"I am waiting to give you your final answer."
"You gave that long ago."
"I did not. I have told you all along that I was not certain whether
the thing would tend to your happiness or my own. Above all, I refused
to have any concealments."
"This objection to concealment is a new thing. Before, you consented."
"No; I never did consent. I have always told you that I would not be
hidden away, like a thing to be ashamed of."
"And I have always told you that my only reason was respect for my
mother's prejudices."
"Let me have my own prejudices, too; and I mean to have them
respected."
"You know that I love you, Molly."
"That is no reason why you should insult me. If I am ever married, it
must be openly, and in the sight of the world. I think I should ask my
relations to be present. You would like to meet the parish clerk, and
the pew-opener, and the ragged bankrupt. Don't use bad language, Sir
Humphrey. Poor and lowly they may be, but perhaps--I'm sure I don't
know--they are virtuous as well."
"I don't mind what you say, Molly."
"Then there are the Haverils."
"The rich people! The man called upon me the other day, and talked
conundrums. What have you got to do with them?"
"They are my cousins. I am a great deal with them just now."
"Oh! Is that what makes you so infernally independent?"
"Shall I become the heiress of millions, or shall I be hidden away in
a box by a husband who is ashamed of his wife? I have this choice."
"Oh! Their heiress! If they will do that! But have you told them of
your engagement?"
"I am not engaged."
"Don't be silly, Molly. How can you refuse what I offer you? Why did
the man call on me, then?"
"Did he call? What did he tell you?"
"He talked about some tremendous secret--talked about my mother. I
thought he meant you and the engagement. Then he told me--which was
a most curious thing--that if I followed the wishes of my mother, I
should have as much money as I want. Wishes of my mother! Why, if I
told her that I was engaged to a lady named Pennefather, she would ask
what your county was, and with whom you were connected, and where your
people's property might lie. And if I said--you know--why, it would be
a case of cutting me off with a shilling. Yet that respectable Dives
went on talking about my mother's wishes."
"Perhaps you did not understand him. At all events, he could not mean
my engagement, because I am not engaged. This is the tenth time that I
have reminded you of that fact, Sir Humphrey."
"My mother would certainly like me to back out--I mean, not to go on."
"Pray do back out."
"I believe you want to take up with that detestable cad--the man you
call Dick--loathsome worm!"
"You are doing your very best to be pleasant this evening, and to
ingratiate yourself! All the world are cads, are they not? except a
small class. But it is quite true. Dick wants me to marry him."
"You'd better, then, and go off on the tramp with him."
"Perhaps I shall. But now, Humphrey, just to come back to
ourselves. You continually insult my people--the class to which I
belong--whenever you open your lips to speak. You have nothing but
contempt for the people who work for their living, to whom I belong,
and the people outside your own little circle. What do you want to
marry me for? To make me happy by having to listen to this continual
flood of contempt?"
"Because, Molly"--the young man's artificial smile vanished and his
pince-nez dropped--"because you are unlike everybody I know. None of
the girls that I know are in the least like you. It pleases me to
see you get indignant in defence of cads. It is like coming into a
different atmosphere. I like to feel like coming down into another
class. When we are married, I mean to go on living with my mother and
her set, and to keep you apart--don't call it concealment--in some
cottage away from the West End."
"And my own people?"
"Well, of course you won't have them to your house, I suppose. You can
go and see some of them, if you like. You can't possibly want to see
all----"
"And my old friend Dick?"
Humphrey turned red; he lost his repose; he flushed a vulgar red.
"You shall not associate with that abominable cad, Molly. I shall
forbid it altogether. You must promise----"
"When I promise anything--perhaps----"
"Then you know, Molly, you are soothing to the nerves. After seeing
a bad picture, or hearing a bad piece of music, or listening to the
cheerfulness of that--that BEAST they call Dick, only to watch you
consoles, and to talk with you restores."
"I am glad to have some qualities, in spite of my birth."
"You have risen above that misfortune, Molly. If you would only refuse
to know these people----"
"Certainly not."
"Give me your promise, Molly."
She rose. "Well, at all events, I understand exactly what you mean. If
you are so good as to marry me, I am to be hidden away; I am to serve
as a soothing syrup for shattered nerves; I am to be an antidote to
bad music; I am to be ashamed of my own people, and to give up my old
friends. That is understood, is it not?"
"We exchange sacrifices--mine the sacrifice of marrying beneath me;
yours, that of giving up an ignoble troop of relations."
To plain persons every word that this girl had spoken would have
been a clear announcement of her decision. To this young man no such
intention was conveyed. Still in the fulness of his self-conceit, the
sacrifice he himself proposed in actually marrying a girl with such
family connections seemed so enormous, while the prospect of becoming
his wife seemed to him so dazzling, that he was totally unable to
understand any hesitation. Molly was whimsical; she did not like to
surrender her independence. He liked her the better for it. No meek
submissive maiden, however lovely, would be able to command that
sacrifice. And, besides, there was that strange magic about the girl's
face and eyes and voice, that in her presence, as has been explained
already, the young man's mind was full of yearnings after transports
unspeakable--after the Flowery Way, where the dancers are, with the
castanets and the champagne and raptures that even the newest Art
cannot bestow.
"Humphrey," she said, "suppose that in a moment--all in a moment--the
things you value most in the world should vanish?"
"My Art? My genius?"
"No; not such genius as you may possess. That is not what you value
most. I mean your birth and rank and position in the world. Suppose
that were to vanish suddenly away?"
"You talk nonsense."
"I say, suppose it were to vanish suddenly away--suppose you were to
become--say--one of my cousins--born like them----"
"Molly, don't waste time in talking nonsense."
"Well, perhaps---- Oh, here is Hilarie."
The library was now deserted, save for these two, when Hilarie
appeared at the door. Her face, always grave, was now stern. Humphrey
saw the look on her face and coloured, conscience-stricken. With her
came his other cousin, also looking grave.
"Molly dear," said Hilarie, "has Sir Humphrey been pressing you?"
The young man became confused and agitated. He understood.
"He has. He wants me to promise to go into hiding with a secret
marriage. He is unable to understand that the sacrifice could not be
compensated even by his society."
Hilarie turned to Sir Humphrey. "I asked you here to-night," she said,
"in order to arrange this little scene. Molly, you can read this
letter."
Molly read it, and looked up from the page into the shamefaced cheeks
of Humphrey.
"I--I--I must go," said the double lover. "Good night, Molly."
"No, sir. Not before Molly has read the letter."
Richard moved a step towards the door.
Molly read it, and looked up amazed. She read it again, and her cheek
flamed. And a third time. Then she returned the letter to Hilarie.
"Wretch!" she said.
Since Hilarie used the same word to express the same idea, there is no
doubt that the dictionary ought to have a special line on this meaning
of the word "wretch."
"Do you understand it, Molly?"
"There can be no doubt about it, Hilarie. Won't you make him go?"
Hilarie pointed to the door contemptuously, as one dismisses a
messenger or a boy; not in the tragic vein at all, but by a little
gesture of her forefinger. Dick threw the door open with a gesture of
command.
Humphrey obeyed, with an effort at preserving some appearance of
dignity. To be found out under such circumstances, to be exposed in
such a manner, to be ordered off the premises so contemptuously,
would make the proudest of men leave the room with the appearance of
ignominy.
"Molly, my dear," said Hilarie, "when you think of the man and what he
is, you will never regret him."
She laid her head upon Hilarie's shoulder with a deep, deep sigh.
"One doesn't like a man making love to somebody else at the same time.
But I dare say I shall get over that. And then--oh, my dear Hilarie,
it is such a relief! I cannot tell you what a relief. For, you know,
sometimes I seem to think that I did consent."
"And as for my other cousin here?"
"Dick," said Molly, "the fiddle is very light to carry. I shan't feel
the weight of it--not a bit. Are you satisfied, Dick?"